


Never Study Without Wine (original fic)

by azephirin



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Best Friends, Biracial Character, Bisexual Character, Bisexuality, Blow Job, Character of Color, Closeted Character, Cuddling and Snuggling, Hand Job, Japan, M/M, Requited Love, Tattoos, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was as beautiful asleep as he was when awake, but with closed eyes and without his usual grin he was far less intimidating.  When Alex was asleep, you could admire him without fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Study Without Wine (original fic)

**Author's Note:**

> Another older fic. Inspired by two cute boys and an amazingly dull history class my senior year of college, lo these many years ago. [Keepsakes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/49734) was the first proper slashfic I ever wrote, but this story was the first time I ever wrote guy-on-guy sex (most of which I wrote on the bus and in class—hey, I had to entertain myself somehow). Thanks and mad shouts out to [](http://katomyte.livejournal.com/profile)[**katomyte**](http://katomyte.livejournal.com/), who has been egging me on for many years.

"Never study without wine," Alex always said, and Michael noticed that they'd gone through most of the bottle in the hour and a half since dinner. Alex had a Japanese last name but was a Roman at heart; his contributions to the suite kitchen were usually in the forms of wine, olive oil, and spices. When he cooked, which he did frequently and with abandon, Alex used all three in abundance.

And now, with half a bottle of Merlot in him, Alex was asleep, a battered copy of The Destructive War across his chest. He was as beautiful asleep as he was awake, but with closed eyes and without his usual grin he was far less intimidating. When Alex was asleep, you could admire him without fear.

Alex slept with the same abandon that he did everything else. One slender-fingered hand was flung above his head, the other sprawled on his stomach, just above the waistband of his khaki shorts. His T-shirt had moved up a bit in sleep, revealing a sliver of stomach the color of hazelnuts. His maroon-tipped hair was mussed from the pillow.

Michael shifted on his end of the futon. His legs, stretched out so that they almost touched Alex's shoulders, were cramped, but to move them meant possibly to wake Alex. No. Michael reopened his copy of _A Short History of Reconstruction_—which was not as short as its author seemed to think—and tried to read again. _Read. Read, _he told himself. _Exam in two days. Read._

But then the bed rustled, and Alex, emitting a small sleepy noise, turned over onto his side, curling his legs up against his chest. His book slid down onto the mattress and fell closed with a soft whooshing thump.

Michael had had enough. Picking up the Nerf football that one of their suitemates had tossed into Alex's room the day before, Michael pegged it gently at his friend's head. "Wake up."

Alexander Murakami's response was another noise as sleepy as the first. Then he turned over onto his belly, sprawling his limbs across the mattress. The outlines of his back, strong and sinewy from years of tennis and lacrosse, were visible through his navy T-shirt. Michael looked for another object to throw. His eyes alit upon Alex's model brain--made of light plastic, it would neither break nor hurt. Michael aimed it at the small of Alex's back.

Startled, Alex turned back over, rubbing his eyes. "You know, one minute I'm reading about Stonewall Jackson, the next you're chucking human brains at me. What's up with that?" His smile was too sleepy to be wicked, his voice slightly gravelly from waking.

"Start reading," Michael said. "You're going to flunk the exam."

"Mikey, the exam's not for another two days. Relax." Alex pulled his body into a stretch, twisting into an arabesque that mussed his clothes even more. One of his legs landed across Michael's and stayed there. Alex picked up his book, but didn't open it.

Footsteps down the stairs, and a lilting female voice. "Hey, Alex, you in there?"

"Come on in, Nina."

Nina Johansen's lithe blondness curved around the right side of the doorframe. Michael tried to move his leg, but Alex showed no inclination of letting it go. "Am I interrupting something?" Nina twinkled.

"Just Mikey trying to get me to study." Alex extended a lazy arm and Nina came into it. He fit his body around hers like two pieces of a woodcut, elegant fingers stroking the waves of Nina's hair. "You smell good."

"Thanks. So do you."

"Any reason for this visit, or just to let me bask in your scent?"

"I came to get a hug."

Alex wrapped his other arm around Nina. "Done."

"I also came to make sure you weren't tormenting poor Mike."

_Too late,_ Michael thought.

"And I wanted to tell you that Amanda came up to me in the dining hall today."

Alex's hand didn't stop its gentle path through Nina's hair. "What'd she have to say?"

Amanda Williams had been sun to Alex's moon, her red curls spilling everywhere. She was as feline as he was, not an inch of her small body wasted. Even the messiest of their cuddles on the couch had been as graceful as two cats curled around one another. Michael remembered walking into the suite one evening to find Alex and Amanda in the darkening room, their voices low, Alex's hand stroking the curve of Amanda's spine as slowly as the orbit of a star, as though he had nothing else to do this day or millennium except lie there, right then, and caress Amanda.

"She said she missed you, and that she wanted to talk to you."

"She knows my number," Alex said, his voice as mild as ever.

"That breakup was so mysterious, Alex," Nina said. "I don't get it."

_No one did,_ Michael thought. _Two beautiful people, and then suddenly they don't speak. One day the suite smells like woman and warm patchouli, and then Alex locks himself in his room and cries for two days. Then he spends a day in the kitchen with the Jupiter symphony and a lot of olive oil, comes out with a huge pan of paella, and eats it all. And then we never hear the name again, just like she never existed._

"Maybe you two should talk," Nina suggested.

"Maybe not," Alex replied, still drawing her hair through his fingers.

Nina slid out from under his arm and kissed Alex's forehead. "You're a stubborn boy, Alexander Tokuzen Murakami." She kissed the top of Michael's head. "And you, Mike, put up with far too much from him."

She left, and Alex picked up the almost-empty bottle of wine. "More?" he offered, but Michael shook his head, and Alex poured the remains into his own glass. "What's on your mind, Mikey?"

"Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing. It looks like, 'Damn it, Alex is being annoying again, and I can't study for the fucking exam.'"

"No. But could you move your leg?"

"Is your foot asleep?"

"No. But... Kyle could walk in or something."

Alex arched a perfect eyebrow, his eyes following a line up his leg, then Michael's, then continuing up Michael's body to his face, which Michael knew was flushing red. "You scared of Big Bad Kyle Brooks?"

"No. But I don't want him to think..."

Alex laughed and sat back, pulling his legs up in front of him, releasing Michael. "Your heterosexuality remains unquestioned, Mikey." His brown eyes sparkled, his mouth curving impishly. "But you know," Alex continued, "it's been a while for you, hasn't it? Long enough that one might wonder about your desire for the chase."

"Shut up, Alex."

"What was it, Mikey, two years ago? That sounds right: freshman year. I think I even remember her name: Katie. She was a nice girl, and so obviously smitten with you. How come you never saw her again?"

"Shut up, Alex."

"I know women who like you, Mikey. The intelligence, the gentleness, it attracts them. You're a haven in a campus full of frat boys. You can't tell me you're blind to it. Maybe you're ignoring it."

"Shut up, Alex."

"Are you gay, Mikey?"

"Alex, I said shut up!"

Alex's expression, posture, hadn't changed; only his eyes were different. The wit was rising to the surface, the wit and the barbs, and Michael didn't think he could take it, knew he couldn't hold up. "Have you ever kissed a boy, Mikey?"

"I'm leaving, Alex."

Alex's body was quick as a flash of lightning, and before the thunder struck Alex was pinning Michael's outstretched legs, one hand cupping the side of Michael's face. "Not until you answer my question."

He tasted like wine and like spices. It was wine and spices and something darker, saltier; if women were like lakes in the sun, then Alex was like the deep ocean. His tongue was warm and nimble, he nibbled on Michael's lower lip, and Michael had pulled him closer before he realized what he was doing.

"No," Michael whispered when he could breathe. "I've never kissed a boy."

"How unfortunate for the male population of the planet," Alex answered, and kissed him again.

Michael slid has hands underneath Alex's T-shirt, letting them explore the warm sinewy skin. Alex arched into the touch as Michael's fingers traced his vertebrae one by slow one. His mouth left Michael's, and suddenly there was moist heat on Michael's neck, a suction that made him shiver. A moan escaped him when Alex's tongue touched his earlobe.

"Maybe you should shut the door," Alex suggested after he had explored the whorls of Michael's ear.

"I can't. You're pinning me to the bed."

Immediately, Alex's weight was gone, and he stretched himself back across the futon, as indolent as an emperor. Michael realized that Alex was waiting for him to get up and close the door. _It's Alex's room, _he thought. _Why doesn't he..._

And then it came to him: it was a way out, subtly offered. All Michael had to do was get up and leave if he didn't want a part of this. All he had to do was go.

Unsteadily, Michael stood up and made his way to the other side of the room, feeling Alex's eyes on him the entire time. I can leave, Michael thought, putting his hand on the doorknob. I can leave and forget this ever happened. He glanced back at where Alex was supine, his hands resting on his belly, his lips slightly swollen from kissing.

"How's the studying going, Mike?" Nina asked, passing briskly with an armload of dishes.

"Good," Michael answered, and closed the door. Alex held out his arms and Michael came into them, fitting his body around Alex's awkwardly at first and then growing comfortable with the angles. He rested his head on Alex's shoulder as Alex's hands swept down Michael's back, across his shoulders, down his arms, and back again to pet Michael's hair, stroke his fingers over the nape of Michael's neck.

"I never thought I'd have you like this," Alex said after a moment. There was not a trace of the sardonic in his voice, and was it possible to hear a hint of wonder?

"You mean you've considered this before?"

It was a strange thing, Michael considered, to feel a man's laugh before you heard it. "Oh Michael," Alex said, "you far underestimate your charm. Practically from the day you walked into Italian 100 first year."

"But I met you in Portuguese, not Italian. They screwed up my registration; I was only in that class for a day."

"I know. You didn't come back the second day, and since I had no real draw to the Italian language anyway, I just followed you to Portuguese."

Michael found himself laughing, shifted to prop himself up on one elbow and look Alex in the face. "You mean you stalked me?"

"I wouldn't put it that ungracefully."

Still laughing, Michael lowered himself to kiss Alex again. Alex's body opened, his hips warm against Michael's, his hands burying themselves in Michael's hair. "You're incorrigible," Michael whispered against Alex's mouth.

"No," Alex said. "I just try my hardest to get what I want."

Alex's mouth was a sweet cave, his fingers tantalizing spiders on Michael's skin. Delicate fingers found a nipple and worked it gently. It ricocheted through Michael's body, finding root between his legs, and he pressed himself against Alex, finding answering arousal. "Have you done this before?" Michael asked, breathless despite his best efforts.

Alex traced Michael's navel, slid his hands into the back pockets of Michael's jeans. "I've been sleeping with boys since I was sixteen."

Michael froze to process this information. "You've been gay for five years and you never told me?"

Alex's voice was warm. His hand snaked down to caress Michael's thigh. "Did I ever say I was gay?"

"No, but I think you left something out."

"Bisexual, Michael. That's what I left out. I love women and I love men."

_Hence Amanda, _Michael thought, _and hence, well, whatever this is_. "So, uh, did you just give up guys in college or something?"

Alex's sultry voice in his ear: "Does it look to you like I gave up guys?" His hand moved back up to rest proprietarily on Michael's ass.

"No, but..."

"But why didn't I make out on the couch with men as well as women? Because I live on a campus full of beer-swilling football players, and what little sense of self-preservation I have kicked in." Hands back under Michael's shirt, warm five-point pressure of fingers against his back. "There have been some, though. Remember Brian? Xavier?"

"Yes, but..."

"But you never thought. That was the idea." Alex shifted underneath Michael, wrapping his legs around Michael's. The new contact was sudden and intense, and Michael felt his breath expel all at once. "What about you?" Alex asked in a voice like molasses. "No one would ever take you for anything besides believably heterosexual."

"I don't know," Michael answered. He had to force the words out; nothing seemed to exist except where Alex's body was touching his. "I think I am straight. Except for you."

Alex's fingers insinuated themselves underneath the waistband of Michael's jeans, hands resting on Michael's hips. "I can live with that."

Michael returned his hands to the sinews of Alex's spine. Alex raised his arms and suddenly Michael found himself confronted by five foot ten inches of half-naked boy, lying decadently underneath him, awaiting his next move. Alex's skin was amazingly warm, as though he'd discovered a heat source unknown to the rest of the world. Around his neck Alex wore a piece of free-form silver on a leather cord. "What's that?" Michael asked.

"Geoff took jewelrymaking at Bennington last semester."

"You're not going to tell me you were with him, too?"

Another laugh that Michael felt before he heard. "No, Geoff's as straight as the day is long."

"So was I, yesterday."

"Are you saying that this wouldn't have happened yesterday?"

"No, but..."

"But you hadn't put a word on it. I understand. Now am I allowed to undress you, too?"

Michael's voice failed him, but he was still able to nod, and then his shirt was on the floor, and there was just the amazing warmth of half a naked Alex against half a naked him. It was angular, it was hot, it was different, and before Michael could stop himself he had said, "It doesn't feel like a girl."

Alex glanced down at himself. "Well, some days, that's all you can hope for," he answered, and pulled Michael down into another kiss. Michael found himself exploring: the salt of Alex's throat, the hollow of his collarbone, the pebble of a nipple (which made Alex moan encouragingly), the cliffside of his navel.

And then suddenly Michael found himself on his back again, staring surprisedly into a pair of mischievous dark eyes. "How did that happen?"

"You didn't think I studied judo for ten years and learned nothing, did you?" And then Alex's head disappeared, his mouth and hands engaged in a full-scale invasion. His mouth was like a spotlight, his hands like silk, and Michael's body felt dark when they abandoned one part, only to light up again when they settled on another. Michael's eyes were closed, and it might have been his own whimpering that he heard, but he didn't really care. "It's so hard for me to believe," Alex whispered, "that I put off doing this for two and a half years." His fingers paused at the button-fly of Michael's jeans, and Michael's eyes, when he realized what the next step might mean, flew open in surprise.

"I want to touch you, Mikey. Can I?"

Michael could almost imagine how Alex's fingers would feel on him, like ten tiny suns illuminating what had been dark forever. He was already hot and hard and aching for it, and he almost moaned an incoherent, "Yes," without any further thought. But then a tiny voice in the back of his mind: if you do this, there is no going back. Let this man touch you, and you will never be able to say that you haven't done this, you will always have to say that you let it happen.

Alex's eyes softened and he lay back on the futon, moving his arm to the less volatile territory of Michael's torso. He kissed Michael's shoulder. "No is OK," he said in a gentler voice than Michael had ever heard him use. "No is completely OK."

"What about I don't know?" Michael asked after a moment's pause.

"That's fine, too." Alex curled himself around Michael in the same feline way he'd done to Amanda, as though he simply had more muscles and fewer bones than his fellow human beings. Hesitantly at first, then more surely, Michael stroked the spiky tips of Alex's hair, as though he had a great cat in bed with him.

"Who was the first boy you slept with?" Michael asked.

He could hear the smile in Alex's voice. "Laney. McLean Fowler. He was the captain of my lacrosse team in high school."

"Alex, you did not sleep with your team captain."

"I did quite frequently, in fact, all that year until Laney graduated. And I'll have you know that it was he who initiated it. Not," Alex added, "that I complained."

"What did he look like?"

"Like you'd expect the captain of the lacrosse team to look. Tall. Blond. He had freckles across the bridge of his nose, which was not unlike the nose I find so pleasing on your face."

"Are we thinking of the same thing? The Bryant family beak?"

"Oh, Michael, no. It makes me think of some kind of Roman patriarch, someone named Julian or Marcus or Augustus. But never a beak."

Michael kept up his perusal of Alex's hair. "So why was it that you and Amanda broke up?" he asked after a while.

Alex sighed and shifted next to him, pressing his nose against Michael's upper arm. "It's a sticky story. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Not if you don't want to tell me. But it just seemed so sudden; I guess I'm curious."

"It was sudden. We'd been going out for about seven months, very happily, and we finally got around to the big sexual history conversation. We'd talked about our exes before, of course, but never exhaustively. And I wanted to be honest with Amanda, because she was important to me, so I told her about the guys. She didn't take it well, called me an AIDS-monger, among other things. So I left, and I never went back."

"And now she wants to talk."

"I can't imagine what about, but yes, apparently so." Alex lay there quietly for a moment. "So when do I get to interrogate you about your sex life, Mikey?"

"Anytime you want, but I don't think the results will be very interesting."

Alex nipped gently at Michael's shoulder. "Tell me what there is. I'm sure it's fascinating."

"It's short, if nothing else. The first girl I slept with was here--Shana, about a month into freshman year--and the last girl was Julia, over Christmas break."

"You never told me about that."

"There wasn't much to say. She revealed that she'd been interested in me for years, and, well, the offer was there and it had been a long time for me. She would have pursued it, but it only happened once."

"Why didn't you follow through on it? I've met Julia. She's a beautiful girl."

She's not you, Michael almost said. "I don't know."

"You sure you're not gay, Mikey?"

_Two can play at this game,_ Michael thought, and flipped Alex over onto his back. He looked down at the face that was smiling as if he'd planned the entire thing. "No," Michael said.

Another kiss and Michael's brain had melted into a body that knew it wanted one thing. "Remember that question you asked me earlier?"

"Whether or not you're gay?" Alex's breath was short, too.

"No, the other one."

"The lecherous one?"

"Yeah, that one." Michael paused. "The answer is yes." He paused again. "But I— want you naked first."

Alex stopped to leave a red mark on Michael's neck. Then he rose off the futon. "What are you doing?" Michael asked.

Alex had never looked more catlike. "Just what you asked. Taking my clothes off."

Hips forward and shoulders back, so casually that he might have been in the room alone, Alex unzipped the khakis and let them fall to the floor. Underneath were a pair of plaid boxers that Michael had seen often enough in the laundry, and then under that, nothing but Alex's skin--where, Michael saw with some surprise, there was a tattoo on Alex's hip. Alex removed the leather cord from around his neck and laid it on the desk, then reached up and took out the small silver hoops that he wore in his ears. He smiled at Michael. "I can't take off the tattoo, so this will have to do."

"Let me see that."

Michael sat up and Alex knelt in front of him. The tattoo was black, a circular set of small Japanese characters. "What is it?" Michael asked, trying to ignore the tumescent penis that was in very close proximity to him.

"It's a Buddhist saying: 'I know only to seek fulfillment.'"

"When did you get it?"

"About six months ago."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"It's more of a me thing than a rest-of-the-world thing. I like having my little Buddhist secret."

"Did it hurt?"

"A little. It wasn't bad."

Michael traced his fingers over the ink, hearing Alex's breath hiss inward. The skin was slightly upraised, and Michael let his fingertips trail the circle by touch alone. Alex's eyes were closed, his cock even harder. Michael led himself down: the crease between hip and thigh, over to the perfect curve of Alex's ass, the side of his hip, the soft spot between hipbone and pubis. And then he closed his hand over Alex's sex, and the resulting whimper sent an electric shock down Michael's middle.

It was not so different from his own, slightly longer and more slender, but the same basic shape, jutting out hungrily in the same way. Michael didn't know precisely how Alex liked to be touched, but he imagined that it was not so different from what he himself liked. He drew a gentle line up the shaft and then around the head, where friction gave way to a warm pearl of fluid. Alex's long fingers were clenched in the duvet. "Mikey, you have to let me lie down if you're going to do this to me."

"No," Michael said. "I think I like you on your knees."

A laugh, cut abruptly by his shortened breath, escaped Alex's mouth. His body was shuddering, his hand tightening and relaxing in the bedclothes. "Since when did you become a dom, Mikey?"

"Since now."

"Mikey," Alex said with great effort. He reached up to touch the ends of Michael's hair, the bow of his mouth. Michael licked Alex's fingertip, tasting the delicate spice of his skin. "Mikey, when I come, I want your arms around me. If you want to hear me beg, I will."

"You don't have to beg. Come here."

Alex smiled at him. "Why is it that you're wearing more clothes than I am?"

"Because you never took them off me."

"That is something I can fix." Shifting off his knees, Alex unbuttoned Michael's jeans, his warm hands settling on Michael's skin. "Raise up," he said, and suddenly Michael was naked, his skin glowing pale against the soft chocolate of Alex's.

"You're all naked," Alex said, trailing a finger down Michael's leg.

"So are you," Michael whispered.

"Yeah, but you're more naked than I am."

And it was true: Alex wore his skin as comfortably as most people wore clothes. Clothing on him seemed simply a concession to culture. There was nothing self-conscious or shy about his nakedness, only a body that was happy to exist and be seen in its natural state.

Leaning against the many pillows, Michael held out his arms and Alex moved into them. Michael used one hand to stroke Alex's length, the other to explore the rest of his body. Alex's head rested on his shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed, his hand tense on Michael's thigh. He arched up to meet Michael's hand, moaning Michael's name, his fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. "Yes, Michael, please–" and then Michael could see Alex's orgasm before it began, from the arcs of his curled toes to the straining of his hips to the mark he left when he bit his perfect lower lip.

Michael, dazed, licked warm liquid from his fingers while Alex watched with half-closed eyes. He pulled Michael's arms more tightly around himself, and Michael tried to memorize the strange warmth and solidity of a man held against him.

He wanted to know what Alex would do to him. Michael had only the faintest inkling of what two men might do together in bed, and most of it had been passed on either in the context of gay jokes or safer-sex posters. "Alex, have you ever..."

Alex's hand was back on his thigh, moving in slow circles. "Have I ever what?"

"Have you ever... done it... to a man?"

"Of course."

"Has a man ever done it to you?"

"On more than one occasion."

"What—what is it like?"

"A little bit painful at first. But then exquisite and intimate if it's done right." It was possible that Michael's face was betraying more than he'd intended, because Alex laughed and took one of his hands. "Oh, Mikey, don't worry: I'm not thinking of doing that with you. It can be lovely, but it's not something you want to do your first time with a man." Alex turned and gently pushed Michael down on the futon, stroking his chest from neck to navel. He smiled his Cheshire-cat smile as his hand dipped lower. "Another time, we can do that if you want. But not now. Now I just want to hear you moan my name," and his finger snicked the head of Michael's sex, and Michael's lungs filled with air.

And then a gentle cyclone of moist warmth descended over his cock, and Michael lost the ability to think or to breathe or to move. Alex's tongue swirled around him, his hands holding down Michael's hips, and Michael wanted to be quiet because their suitemates might hear, but he couldn't, and he heard himself, faintly as if he were very far away, crying out. He buried his hands in Alex's hair, wanting both to pull him closer, to thrust into his mouth. But Alex's hands were strong, holding Michael down against the futon despite his pleas. And it was like torture, an impending explosion. He begged Alex to let him come, he begged him never to stop, he heard the sobs in his breaths.

When Michael came it was like an implosion, like the outside falling in and bursting out of him in a wave of heat. The colors under his eyelids were brilliant as stars, and it was like being reborn, pouring himself out until there was nothing left.

Michael was still shaking as Alex crawled up to lie next to him again, and he tucked his head under Alex's chin and let Alex hold him. In a while, Michael pulled him down for a kiss, and he tasted himself along with Alex's own tartness. "Thank you," Michael said when he had his breath back.

Alex's legs once more tangled with his own; it was like being pleasantly engulfed. "I'm the one who should be thanking you, Mikey."

"I guess this means I can never go back now," Michael said after a moment.

"You mean because you let a man make you come?" Alex's fingers gently sifted through his hair. "Selfishly, I don't want you to go back. I want you in my bed. But no, this isn't the dividing line, not yet."

"Then what is?"

Alex considered. "I'd say that once you've let a man fuck you, there's really no ignoring the fact that you're queer."

"What if you fall in love with a man?" Michael ventured.

"Then that's its own dividing line. Plus you have to decide whether or not you want to tell the man."

"I do. I think."

Alex kissed the top of Michael's head. "Good. I think he'll be glad to hear it."

"What do we do now?" Michael asked.

"Now? We pull up the blankets, sleep for a little while, and then study some more. How does that sound?"

"It sounds good."

Michael arranged himself around Alex, and Alex arranged the covers around both of them. With Alex's hands on his back and heartbeat under his head, Michael thought he just might be able to sleep.


End file.
